My Love, My Home
by Dogfancy
Summary: It's times like these where the RED Spy and BLU Scout can find themselves enjoying each others company: Home with the woman they both love. ONESHOT! Fluffy d'awww! Rated for language.


The work day was long and hot, water from the sewers under their feet making it humid and hard to work in. Spy's performance seemed to have slipped as well, for it was the third time the scout had (none to gently) bludgeoned him with an aluminum bat. However, something about the day was very off.

Every respawn, both Spy and Scout would feel the rustle of paper in their pockets. Each time they brought the papers up to their face.

'_Want to eat before the flight?_' was the first note Scout had seen. The cursive was formal and inviting, albeit a bit smudged and rushed. The paper was wet on his fingertips, probably from the sewer water that half-covered his own corpse. That would also explain the smell.

'sure where' had been scrawled on the back of a shopping list written in blue ink. Spy paused to brush off his suit from the dust that whipped up in front of the BLU fortress as he had died. The scrawl was nearly illegible, but he was keen of eye and smiled softly at the writing, just for a split second. As he was rushed away by Demoman, he snatched an envelope lying, torn apart, on top of the nearest desk.

'_There's a nice _Italien_ restaurant opened up twenty minutes from the airport._' Scout scoffed, it was like him to pick such a fancy place. His lips touched to a frown and his eyes knitted, carefully running through his options. His teammates shot him glances that urged him to continue. A bell struck from the top of the building, ringing out to the team that the work day would be over soon.

'_fuck no cant we go somewhere cool like mcd's_' An eyebrow arched. He carefully had picked the paper from his pocket, finding it to be a piece of tissue paper with an odd stain that seemed oddly like- **OH GOD**. He quickly threw it as far as he could from himself, finding an unpleasant tingle making him shiver. Without so much as a second thought he took his lighter and burned the offending paper before angrily scribbling on a napkin, reddened with a spot of ketchup.

"_Could you _please_ use something else to right on next time? Fine, we'll go to the McDonalds at the airport._" The writing was, hilariously, rushed and lacked the flair of the others. As the tips of his fingers brushed against the moist spot on the "stationary", they caught the redness. The bell rang a final time, signaling the fighting to stop and for those to collect proper body parts or equipment from the bridge if necessary. Scout lapped at his red fingers, earning both disgusted and amused looks from most of BLU.

The battlefield muted none-too-soon, leaving only the dry gust to stir the loose dirt, revealing the hard, unforgiving earth. The ground burned like concrete on a hot day and it was only under the shade of the bridge that Spy and Scout found themselves, among other teammates, contemplating their time. It was numbingly loud, the sounds of their voices echoing under the beaten wood.

Spy was feeling itchy, the sweat collecting under his suit making him feel dirty and rotten, not to mention the multiple stains. He peeled off two layers already, from the jacket to the vest and revealing a crisp, white shirt. "Y'know," Scout murmured between bites of a sandwich, "You dun' _have_ to wear all dat shit, y'know? S'not like uniform or anything." The Frenchman laughed quietly at this, taking a sip from the cold lemonade at his side. "Zat's not zee point, stupid boy," he snorted, leaning further back and supporting his weight against the creaking boards. "Zee zuit is something of class, non? It separates me from zees idiots." Heavy and Demoman on each end of Spy and Scout made noises of protest, only to be shushed by those around them. The Bostonian guffawed, sputtering crumbs into the sewage just under their feet.

With the evening came a solemn, single train. Rust crusted along its sides as if it been through a heavy rain, but the creaking wheels smoothly ran across the iron plates sown into the earth. It was a welcome sign for the mercenaries, each of them with a single destination: Home. Thanksgiving was celebrated in-base, to their disappointment, but the opportunity to arrive home for Christmas was important, especially to those with families. The large family around Scout, normally annoying, suddenly brought him a feeling of homesickness and separation anxiety. The bruises his brothers inflicted from their roughhousing had long-since faded and the only speck of his life was the family photograph his mother had sent him in the mail at the first signs of autumn.

When the train slid into its platform, laden with late-night city dwellers, each of them exited with no more flourish than normal. Of course, no one could really understand their part of the world, but the modest group felt no need for attention anyway. The lifestyle they were provided was good enough for them and sustained their basic needs. Of course, each had their tendencies to splurge, if Demoman's large estate and Spy's expensive clothing were good enough indicators. None-the-less, the station remained quiet at their arrival.

The flight out of Texas felt empty without others to fill the missing seats in each jet. Spy and Scout had sat in a comfortable silence (after eating two burgers each, the silence felt like a thick blanket for them to sleep in) for the majority of the trip. A silly cartoon played in the wee hours of the morning when they awakened to the smell of pre-made breakfasts: Pancakes lathered in rich butter and savory slices of bacon, cut thick with fair amounts of fat. They knew this would be the last peaceful meal they would have and they enjoyed it, the only noise being the squeaks and laughter emanating from the television and the soft, airy sound from the outside of the plane itself.

The clouds soon stopped rolling and Boston came into view. Scout was obviously excited, bouncing off of his seat to stare out of the window and tap at it, yapping out anecdotes of the various buildings they passed over. A museum, a zoo, an elementary school… Spy couldn't help but smile fondly at this, catching bits and pieces of familiar territory coming into view.

At the airport they ran into no trouble. Their luggage made it safely, though Spy had to put out his cigarette once a bored-looking lady, black hair up in a beehive and bloody red nails tapping impatiently against the counter, had lectured him on the airport guidelines (_Guidelines, _he pointed out, not absolute rules!). Scout made an indistinct, cheery sound at the sight of his mother patiently sitting on one of the plastic seats. She smiled softly at them and stood up from her seat, opening her arms. Spy strolled casually, though slightly quickened, but Scout had bolted as soon as he could, giving his mother a neck-hug and digging his face into her shoulder.

She pat his back and seemed to be whispering paternal comforts to him as if he were a small child, but her attention turned to Spy and they locked eyes for what seemed like forever, before he chuckled internally and opened his arms as if to say 'what, no hug for me?' Her eyes rolled and she motioned for him to come too, to which he gladly accepted the invitation.

At the dinner table no more than a week later, surrounded by the squawking chatter of the entire zoo of a family around them, Spy and Scout felt at peace.

* * *

**A/N:** I can honestly tell you that I have NO CLUE why I wrote this. It was supposed to be longer but I really couldn't think of a suitable plot to follow up with and found that a one-shot would be easier with this type of fluffy awwww cute puppies and rainbows story. I had fun with it though and, in my headcanon, all the teams totally hang out after fighting. Totally.


End file.
